


Deceptively Delicate

by Leonardo_Charles_BlueWood_21



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Ever after scene LOL, Jaskier Picks up Geralt, Jaskier can lift Geralt, M/M, Strong jaskier, clever jaskier, do not repost to another site, that's it that's the whole fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:56:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25222759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leonardo_Charles_BlueWood_21/pseuds/Leonardo_Charles_BlueWood_21
Summary: One thing to know about Jaskier was that he was not as small as he might seem at first glance. His bright smiles, flirtatious personality and exuberant energy made him seem deceptively boyish and the clothing he wore only added to the image, making him look a lot smaller than he truly was. It wasn’t as though Geralt hadn’t noticed before. He knew Jaskier wasn’t that much shorter than him. He’d stood next to him and shared a bed often enough that he was familiar with the shape of his stature, but it had never really occurred to Geralt that Jaskier nearly matched him in height and shoulder width because it just didn’t match with the picture of Jaskier in his head, or the one in front of him. Probably due to the fact that most of their time together was either spent sitting down or with Geralt across the room while Jaskier danced on tabletops or Geralt atop Roach while Jaskier walked below. It was easy to forget that Jaskier wasn’t actually as small and delicate as his manner and clothing made him appear.Or:They get ambushed and Geralt finds out Jaskier can actually pick him up and carry him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 62
Kudos: 328





	Deceptively Delicate

**Author's Note:**

> This is something utterly silly that came into my head with randomness when I happened to be in the writing mood, so here we are with my first Witcher fic, something slightly ridiculous that I enjoyed every second of writing lsdfasd Short and sweet, as they say! 
> 
> (100% inspired by that one scene in Ever After)

By the time Grealt noticed the Bandits, it was too late. 

There were sixty of them at least, hiding in the shrubbery and trees, the set up was entirely too well thought out to be an ordinary band of thieves, not to mention the number of them. Usually a group of bandits hardly exceeded thirty. They had designed the ambush carefully, ensuring that by the time Geralt’s enhanced senses were able to pick out their presence from among the rustling leaves, birds and animals, they were already closing in around them and blocking off all possible escape routes. Defeated before he even knew there was a battle. It certainly wasn’t a coincidence, this was a specifically tailored trap for ensnaring a Witcher. Jaskier strolled along behind him humming, carefree as ever and Geralt slowed his walk to a stop, Roach halting behind him. Jaskier’s humming cut off and he looked at Geralt curiously. 

“Geralt?” he asked, then glanced around at the surrounding area, the trees made it hard to really see anything.

“Ambush,” Geralt growled. 

“Right,” Jaskier nodded, eyes darting around. “And uh,” he licked his lips, shifting on his feet slightly, “running’s not an option I take it?” 

“No,” he said, his anger and frustration bleeding into the word. He considered drawing his swords but doubted they’d do any good. Talking might not be much of an option either if they wanted him specifically, which seemed to be the case if the trap was anything to go by. His only reassurance was that if they wanted him dead they would have already begun shooting from a safe distance away instead of advancing into range of his swords, so they wanted him alive. Hopefully that courtesy would be extended to Jaskier as well.

Jaskier stiffened when the first man came into sight and gradually shifted closer to Roach, effectively hiding behind her and Geralt as more and more came into view, advancing closer until there only remained about a dozen or so meters between them, out of reach, but at the ready, ensuring they did not flee. “Oh,” Jaskier said weakly, “that’s quite a lot of them isn’t it.” Geralt grunted his assent, eyes flicking across the clearing as he took stock of their weapons. Their stances told him that the swords and crossbows weren’t just there for show. Not promising. 

“Geralt of Rivia!” a voice called as a man emerged from the trees in front of them. He was a thin man, skin tanned and dark hair and beard tangled, looking to be in his forties with streaks of grey, lean but surefooted as he picked his way through the shrubbery over to them. His voice was jovial and the use of his name confirmed Geralt’s suspicion that it was not a coincidence. The man stode forward, hand loosely resting on the hilt of the sword at his hilt, the men surrounding them at the ready. 

“A friend of yours?” Jaskier asked quietly as he approached. 

Geralt clenched his jaw. “No.” 

“And who might you be, sir?” Jaskier asked politely, projecting his voice to be heard and stepping away from Roach and out from behind Geralt into the view of the man. 

“Shut up, Jaskier,” Geralt growled, his hand tightening around the reins. If he just stayed quiet and did not aggravate the man, as was his habit, they might let him go. 

The man scanned Jaskier in a quick glance, taking in his bright clothing and his lute that was strapped to his back and gave him a friendly smile before answering. “Kravak Malevara, at your service, master bard,” he gave a sweeping bow. 

“May I ask why you’ve ambushed us?” Jaskier inquired, politely still, and Geralt grit his teeth. 

“Our business is our own,” Kravak said cheerfully, completely at ease surrounded by his men. 

“I’m afraid it is our business as well since we have evidently become involved, good sir,” Jaskier pointed out. 

“Jaskier,” he growled warningly. A man stepped forward at the sound of his voice and Geralt’s sword was drawn and at his throat in an instant. There were alarmed shouts and the sound of weapons being drawn all around them, crossbows were loaded and pointed at them, the abrupt surge of movement made Jaskier yelp and duck behind Geralt and Roach again. The man at the end of his sword swallowed, throat bobbing, hands held up placatingly as Geralt narrowed his eyes at him. 

“Drop your weapons, or we will shoot,” one of the men ordered. Geralt swept his gaze around him. There were a lot and he would prefer to avoid spilling any blood if he could, but they’d backed him into a corner. If he moved fast enough he could probably take out a few but they were more likely to overwhelm him. Then there was Jaskier. He might’ve been willing to attempt an escape if it weren’t for the glaringly vulnerable bard standing behind him, there was no way he wouldn’t be injured in the crossfire, if not killed, or used as leverage. “Drop your weapons!” the man repeated, louder this time. Geralt ground his teeth in frustration, face twitching, but did as he asked, tossing his sword a short distance away. 

“And the other one,” the same man said. Geralt glared at him but unsheathed his silver and tossed it atop the steel with a clatter. A bandit swooped in to grab them and the moment the swords were out of his reach they surged forward. 

Geralt tensed, but forced his fists to remain at his sides as they tugged off Roach’s saddle bags. She whinnied and snapped and kicked at a few of them, dancing skittishly away from the noise and unfamiliar hands. There were a few curses and they left her alone after retrieving the bags. “Hey, hey!” Jaskier exclaimed as his own bag and his lute were yanked off of him, “Careful with that!” 

“Watch it!” Geralt barked threateningly and the young bandit who held Jaskier’s lute promptly backed away nervously. Geralt bared his teeth at him and he stumbled over a root. 

The group retreated, possessions having been successfully pilfered. And the tension in Geralt’s shoulders tightened even further as Kravak stepped forward again, mood not dampened in the slightest. 

“That was rather rude,” Jaskier told him with an annoyed look. He would have said more if Geralt hadn’t silenced him with a look. He rolled his eyes and thankfully shut his mouth. 

He simply laughed. “I do apologize for the treatment but I am not foolish enough to leave a Witcher with his swords and potions.” 

“If your quarrel is with me, you have no use for the bard,” Geralt growled, “let him go.” 

Jaskier spluttered, “Ex _cuse_ me, I am not going anywhere, thank you very much - ” 

“Shut up, Jaskier,” Geralt told him without breaking eye contact with the bandit leader. The bard huffed and folded his arms, looking away grumpily, but held his tongue. 

Kravak considered his proposal and finally nodded. “You are right, I have no business with you master bard,” he turned to Jaskier, bowing his head respectively. “You are free to leave.” 

Some of the tension drained out of his shoulders for about a second before Jaskier started talking again and he cursed under his breath. 

“Wait a minute!” Jaskier exclaimed, “We’re in the middle of nowhere and you’ve taken my things! You expect me to travel through the wilderness with no provisions? I wouldn’t last a day!” 

“ _Jaskier_ ,” Geralt hissed. Couldn’t he just take the offer and _leave it?_ The bandits were granting him his life and his freedom and if he kept talking they were _going_ to change their minds! 

Kravak tilted his head, studying Jaskier curiously. “You make a fair argument,” he finally said and Geralt could not _believe_ Jaskier’s luck. He straightened his posture and nodded to him. “You can take with you whatever you can carry.” 

Jaskier opened his mouth, then hesitated. 

“ _Just shut up and take the offer,_ ” Geralt told him in a furious whisper. Jaskier ignored him. 

“Whatever I can carry,” he repeated slowly. Kravak nodded. Jaskier swallowed unsteadily. “And I have your word of honor that I can leave here with whatever I can carry and neither you nor any of your men will stop me?” His brow quirked at that but he nodded again. 

“You have my word,” he confirmed, looking amused. 

Geralt clenched his fists, trying to translate through expression alone that Jaskier should stop wasting time and leave, but the bard wouldn’t look at him. Jaskier took a deep breath then exhaled. “Okay.” He squared his shoulders, turned to Geralt and strode towards him to the confusion of Geralt and the entire group. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt said in a low voice so the bandits couldn’t hear him, “what are you doing? Take your lute and go.” 

Jaskier approached him confidently, making no such effort to dampen his volume. “I’ve always wanted to try this,” he announced cheerfully, then muttered, “please don’t kill me,” under his breath. Geralt didn’t have time to ask him what he meant because he promptly leaned down, grabbed him and _heaved_ Geralt up over his shoulder with a grunt. Geralt scrabbled for purchase for a moment as the world turned upside down, the discomfort of Jaskier’s shoulder digging into his stomach at the front of his mind until the situation caught up to him and blinked dumbly as Jaskier secured his grip around the back of his thighs. 

_Whatever you can carry_. 

His stunned silence was mirrored by the group surrounding them as Jaskier turned to the bandits leader. “Thank you for your courtesy, good sir,” he said brightly, giving a half aborted bow, “I’ll be on my way now.” He turned and started walking away with Geralt slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

A sharp, disbelieving bark of laughter sounded from Kravak as he watched them leave, the rest of the group shifting but none came after them. 

Geralt could only open and close his mouth soundlessly. He managed to snap it shut with a click that hurt his head and furrowed his brow as his brain attempted to process what was occurring. He barely registered the bandits laughter as it started suddenly and quickly descended into all of them howling, some even simply falling over when he looked up from his place slung over Jaskier's shoulder with bewilderment. 

“Your lute,” Geralt said dumbly, because Jaskier was walking away from it. He cared for it more than he did himself at times, he’d seen him literally fall flat on his face to prevent it from getting damaged. _An instrument is a bard’s livelihood, Geralt,_ he remembers him saying, _a bard without one isn’t a bard at all. Who would pay to only hear singing with no accompaniment, there’s no guarantee the bard wouldn’t be horribly off key. Besides, I happen to be rather attached to this one, one does not simply receive a gift from an elven king every day mind you_ \-- 

Jaskier leaving his lute behind just wasn’t something that happened. What was possibly more shocking was that he was choosing Geralt over his lute. 

“Don’t be stupid, Geralt,” Jaskier laughed breathlessly, voice strained as he walked, his steps deliberate to keep from mis-stepping and sending them both tumbling. “You’re heavy as it is, I couldn’t possibly carry both of you.” 

“Wait!” Kravak called, barely able to choke the word out over his laughter. “Wait, come back,” his shoulders shook, “we’ll return your things!” 

  
  
  
  


_______________

  
  
  
  


A good while later, after Jaskier had set Geralt down again and they had been reunited with Roach, Jaskier’s lute and the rest of their things, they learned that Kravak held a grudge against a man that he had heard Geralt was associated with, which, after an explanation on Jaskier’s part once the laughing had died down, he learned that was not, in fact, the case. He apologized for the misunderstanding and thanked them for the entertainment, “ _We have not laughed this hard in years_.” They made camp together and he offered to let them travel with them until they reached the city, an invitation which Jaskier accepted heartily on the both of their behalfs as Geralt was still incapable of speaking, rather blindsided by the sudden turn of events. He left the jovial group to check on Roach as the sun set for a moment to think. 

Jaskier approached him not long after as he brushed Roach down a short distance away from the camp. 

“Well!” he said cheerfully, leaning against Roach, “I think that went splendidly!” 

Geralt responded with a _hmm_ , mostly out of habit, still brushing Roach with methodical strokes. 

Jaskier knew him too well though, easily able to tell he was distracted and scoffed, pushing himself off of Roach, (Geralt felt a little betrayed that she hadn’t tried to kick him.) “What? Did I damage your fragile manliness? Ruin your scary Witchery image?” 

It’s easy to fall into his default annoyance and shoot Jaskier a glare, which did absolutely nothing to dampen his smirk. He wasn’t sure how he could have assumed it would have, he should have known better after knowing him for so long. Geralt decided there was no safe way to respond and turned his attention back to Roach.

“Oh come on, Geralt,” Jaskier scoffed, waving his hand dismissively, “you can’t be that shallow.” He wasn’t. He really wasn’t bothered by it. 

“I didn’t know you could lift me,” he said, and then felt immediately stupid afterwards. He clamped his mouth shut, cursing himself for letting words slip out and clenched his teeth together, determined not to say anything else self-incriminating.

Jaskier huffed, raising an eyebrow, “I carry a lute everywhere and have literally been walking across the continent with you for a decade,” he laughed - Geralt knew that, he _knew_ that and still - “not to mention we’re nearly the same height, Geralt, you’re not actually that much bigger than I. I would have thought you would have been more surprised if I _couldn’t_ lift you.” Geralt wisely did not respond. Instead he put Roach’s brush back in the saddlebags and gave Roach a final careful pet before turning and walking away. 

Jaskier spluttered, stumbling after him, “Really, Geralt, I don’t understand what there is to be so mopey about. We’re both alive, they’re providing the food till we get to the city, I still have my lute, things literally could not have turned out any better.” 

“I’m not moping,” Geralt muttered as Jaskier trotted to his side, he kept his gaze resolutely forward but could still _hear_ the look Jaskier gave him. 

“Yes, yes you are,” he said flatly. “I don’t understand why, it can’t be _that_ shocking that I can lift - ” he stopped. Geralt couldn’t help but stop as well and glance back at him questioningly. He regretted the action immediately at the sight of a massive sly grin that started to spread across Jaskier’s face. “Oh,” he said, “oh you _liked_ it.” 

And no, he was _not_ dealing with that. 

“Shut up,” Geralt scowled and started walking back to the camp again. Jaskier followed him, clearly struggling to repress his laughter, an attempt that left him breathless and gasping. Geralt regretted the day he decided to open his mouth. 

“No, no! Wait,” he danced around to Geralt’s front and held out his hands to stop him. He managed to restrain his smile into something serious though it looked to be with great difficulty. When he’d finally gotten it under control after what seemed like an eternity - though it it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds - he pinned Geralt in his severe gaze, leaning forward so that their faces were barely a few inches apart and Geralt’s eyes were completely filled with an intense bright blue. 

“My dear Witcher,” Jaskier murmured, “I’d carry you _anytime_.” 

For a minute Geralt could only stare at Jaskier who somehow hadn’t broken into a smile yet, as though the offer was really serious and not simply made out of an attempt at humour. 

Someone at the camp must have spotted them because cheers came from the bandits and both he and Jaskier glanced over to see the entire camp watching them. Geralt was grateful for a moment that their noise prevented him from having to respond, until they started wolf whistling and catcalling, a duo going so far as to have one dip the other and then kiss. He scowled at them. Jaskier laughed, drawing his gaze and blinding him for a moment with his bright smile. Geralt promptly grabbed the side of his face with one hand and shoved him out of the way, which only made him laugh harder as he stumbled. They both knew it was soft, that if he’d actually been trying Jaskier would have tumbled a much further distance, but neither of them brought attention to the fact. 

Jaskier trailed after him, still laughing along with the bandits as Geralt purposefully strode over to the edge of the camp where his bedroll had been laid out, resolutely ignoring the lot of them. 

  
  
  


Honestly Geralt wasn’t really sure how he should be reacting to the revelation that Jaskier was strong enough to lift him without too much trouble. It was a struggle to piece together the information with the picture of the bard that already existed in his mind, the Jaskier that complained about sore feet and flopped down after a performance, who weaseled his way out of every task he could. It didn’t bother him, he just… It was almost… nice… to know that Jaskier wasn’t something fragile, that he wouldn’t be knocked over if the breeze swept in too strong. He was still _Jaskier_ , loud, flighty, flirtatious, prone to avoid work whenever possible; one of the only constants in Geralt’s life. The same Jaskier that was somehow always surprising him with his kindness and stubborn goodness. Perhaps it wasn’t so hard to join the two images, just another detail that painted the picture of the person Jaskier was. 

  
  


It was much later in the night when Jaskier joined him, most of the camp had passed out by that time, only a small group by one of the fires providing a background of murmuring. Geralt listened to him approach, his footsteps an ever familiar sound as he carefully picked his way through the sleeping bodies until he reached him. Geralt kept his breathing even, feigning sleep as Jaskier crawled into the bedroll next to him quietly.

“Goodnight, Geralt,” Jaskier murmured.

Geralt waited until Jaskier’s breathing had deepened and evened out in sleep to murmur back. 

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This has got to be the silliest thing I've ever written sdlkfamsld LOL
> 
> Reasons why I think Jaskier can lift Geralt:  
> -Literally walks his way across the continent (You'd be surprised what walking alone can do for your physical fitness)  
> -Occasionally climbs out of windows and runs to escape angry people  
> -Carries a LUTE, which weighs a TON for hours on end whilst singing and dancing  
> -Also carries said lute on his back as he walks across the continent  
> -Is literally Geralt's height  
> -Because I want him to, so he can
> 
> (Edit: A lovely soul informed me that lutes do not, in fact, weigh that much, (roughly the weight of a guitar really, which isn't all that heavy) It certainly puts a bit of a damper on my reasoning, but I draw your attention to the last one on the list. JUST LET ME HAVE THIS)


End file.
